Trapped
by Klyntaliah
Summary: Based on a prompt: Your OTP is stuck together in a small closet. Takes place before The Avengers, not long after Iron Man 2. Clintasha one-shot. T for mild language. "She was incredibly protective of her personal space, and he was sure she'd never been this close to him - or anyone."


"Clint, someone's coming."

Clint looked up from the classified file he was examining and groaned. "Oh, no. We've got to get out of here," he said. Of course, three weeks of prior planning and they had to be interrupted, mid-snooping, by a random passerby. But it couldn't be helped. Clint threw down the file and ran to join his partner at the door.

"We don't have time," Natasha hissed, her ear pressed to the door. She looked urgently up at Clint. "They're headed this way, we have seconds."

Clint speedily assessed their options. One, fight their way out. But if they did that, their cover here at HYDRA would be blown. Two, play it cool. However, as HYDRA was already suspicious of them, being found in Von Strucker's private office would be hard to explain away. Three—

The doorknob rattled as a key was fit into the lock. Quick as a flash, Clint grabbed Natasha and shoved her into a nearby closet, forcing himself in after her and shutting the door behind them.

Clint could feel Natasha's heart pounding against his chest as the office door opened. Footsteps crossed to the opposite wall, and there was a rustling of paper as a few folders on the desk were sifted through. Clint held his breath. If they were caught in here…

Then, the footfalls began again, more slowly, gradually amplifying as they approached the closet. Clint felt Natasha's muscles tense, and his brain started whizzing as he tried to invent a plausible explanation about what they were doing in the closet.

Then, at the last second, the person turned and crossed to the other side of the room again. Then walked towards them again, then away. They were pacing.

Clint relaxed a little, his ears still on high alert as he listened to the person's every movement. They moved to the desk again, set down a file, then left the room, locking the door behind them.

Clint let out the breath he was holding, relieved. "That was way too close," he stated. Then he stopped short. Now that the immediate threat was gone, he was suddenly aware of how incredibly small the closet was. It would hardly have fit one person, let alone two. Clint's body was wedged firmly between Natasha and the door, and the space was so narrow that his elbows brushed the side walls. Suddenly in a hurry to get out, he turned the doorknob. And panicked.

"No kidding," Natasha answered him. She fell silent, waiting as Clint fumbled wildly with the doorknob. "Hey, can we get out of here now? Or were you planning on hanging around in here all day?"

Clint paused and took a deep breath, bracing himself for her response. "The door's locked," he admitted finally.

Natasha froze. "You _are_ kidding, right?"

"No," Clint said meekly. "I think it must have locked automatically when I shut it."

Natasha grabbed the doorknob and twisted it violently. She swore in Russian, and Clint could feel her glowering at him through the dark.

"Congratulations, idiot," she snarled. "You got us stuck."

Clint lowered his eyes, feeling embarrassed for more reasons than one. It was his fault they were in this predicament, and he knew Natasha must hate it. They had only been partners for about a year, but one thing he knew about her was that she was incredibly protective of her personal space, and he was sure she'd never been this close to him – or anyone.

Their bodies were pressed fully against each other's, and Clint had to lean his head back to keep their faces from touching. They were still breathing the same air; he could feel her chest pushing against him every time she inhaled, and the small gust of air on his skin every time she exhaled.

Natasha was still tugging fruitlessly at the doorknob. Each time she moved, Clint could feel muscles rippling across her torso. He felt awkward and unsure what to do with his hands, so he settled for resting them against the wall on either side of his partner's shoulders.

"Maybe we can pick the lock," he proposed at random, trying to break the awkward mood.

"With what?"

"Uhh… I don't know. A paperclip, a hairpin, a nail-file…"

She shook her head, and he felt her hair brush his wrist, giving him goosebumps. "We don't have any of those things," she informed him.

"Well there's gotta be something in this closet we can use," Clint asserted desperately.

"Clint, this closet is empty."

She was right. The closet had nothing in it; no shelves, no clothes-rods, no cubbyholes, no drawers… nothing except for two disgruntled assassins. What its function even was in the first place, Clint had no idea.

"Oh, yeah. Um…" Clint wracked his brain for another idea, but was finding it hard to think with Natasha so close to him, her scent filling his nostrils. "You think there's a vent in here?" he heard himself ask.

"Why would they put a vent in a closet?"

"I don't know," Clint said, a little embarrassed.

"Well, if there is, it's probably on the ceiling, so we can't reach it," Natasha said logically. "Move your legs and I'll try kicking the door."

They were standing toe to toe, so Clint moved his feet and placed them on either side of hers, giving them both just a little more leg room.

Natasha kicked at the door between his legs, and he felt it vibrate slightly behind his back.

"There's not really room. I mean, I can't pull my leg back very far, so I can't get enough momentum to knock it down," she explained. "Maybe, try pushing with your back?"

Clint strained his back against the door, testing its strength. When he got not results, he increased his force, feeling his muscles work as he pushed harder. But the door remained completely solid and unyielding.

"Too strong," he confessed, panting a little. The space was starting to feel uncomfortably warm, and he could feel sweat beginning to accumulate on his body. He drew his hand self-consciously across his forehead.

There was a whispering sound as Natasha slid her hands along the side walls, testing their sturdiness. She rapped at them with her knuckles, listening for hollowness, but to no avail.

"Check the wall behind me," she ordered Clint.

Clint moved his hands across the wooden panels on the wall opposite, pressing against them. "I don't think – wait." He'd stumbled across a panel, near the corner, that felt a little loose. "I think I can get this one." He slid his palm along it, then hesitated. Natasha was partially blocking the panel. He might still be able to get it, but it'd be hard.

"Can you… move just a little to your left?" he asked cautiously.

There was a slight pressure on his chest as she tried to move. "No, I can't," she said irritably.

"Okay," Clint said hastily. He wiggled his fingers into the gap between the panels, getting a better grip on it. Then he yanked hard at it, and there was a loud cracking noise as it pulled away from the wall. Clint triumphantly threw down the panel.

"What's under there?" Natasha demanded.

Clint felt the place where the panel had been, and his heart sank. "It's just drywall," he said in disappointment. "There's no way we can break through that stuff." He felt Natasha sigh.

They were both silent for a minute, thinking. Clint leaned his hands against the wall again, accidentally pulling Natasha's hair in the process.

"Sorry-"

"Hang on," she interrupted. "What did you do with that panel?" She started feeling around the small enclosure.

Clint squinted hard into the dark. He turned his head to look to the other side, and felt his nose brush Natasha's. Flustered, he grabbed the first thing his hand came into contact with. "Here it is!"

There was a pause, then a warm burst of air on his neck as his partner chuckled. "What the hell, Barton. You thought my hand was a piece of wood?"

"Oops. Is that your hand?" Clint said, blushing.

"That's my hand." Natasha wiggled her fingers, and Clint let go.

"Wait, I just found it," Natasha said. "I'm gonna try to force the door open with it."

The narrow slit of light between the door and the frame was partly darkened as Natasha fed the stiff piece of wood into it. Then she put pressure on the makeshift crowbar, and there was a splintering noise as the door started to give way.

"I'm getting it!" she said excitedly.

Eagerly, Clint reached up and pushed against the panel, speeding up the process.

There was a loud _snap,_ and the panel broke. Half of it fell through the door, the other half dropped to the floor.

Natasha cursed loudly in Russian.

"Sorry!" Clint apologized, heat flooding his face. "I should've just let you – crap – hang on, I'll get it for you—" He desperately reached around for the panel, but it had fallen to the bottom and there was no way of reaching it. He wiped at his sweaty forehead. "I can't reach it. God! I'm so sorry, Nat, I feel terrible about this whole mess. I got us locked in here, and—" He broke off, confused. Natasha was shaking, and little puffs of air were exploding against his neck. "Are you… laughing?" he asked uncertainly.

"I know, it's terrible," Natasha gasped. "It's just – this whole situation is _so_ ridiculous!" She dissolved into gales of laughter.

Clint started laughing too, partly out of relief that she wasn't furious, and partly because this _was_ pretty ridiculous. And also because he loved the sound of her laugh.

They stood there, laughing hysterically in the tiny closet for several minutes. Up till then, Clint had been feeling entirely awkward and uncomfortable about their plight, but now that they were laughing about it, he felt better about the whole thing. It was humorous; almost… _enjoyable_. He was just wishing he could see his partner's smile when she dropped her head forward onto his shoulder, her hair tickling his cheek. Clint's heart gave a pleased jolt. He hoped she hadn't felt it.

"Okay," Natasha panted, her laughter finally dying down. _"Dang_ I feel stupid. Okay. Um…" She cleared her throat and lifted her head again. "I think the door's weaker now. Try pushing it with your back again."

Obediently, Clint braced his palms against the wall and pushed his back against the door again. Natasha was right. The door was considerably weaker than it had been before. There was a loud cracking sound, and he felt it give way a little.

Clint pushed harder, and felt the door gradually growing looser. After a few minutes, he stopped, panting.

"It's still pretty sturdy," he informed Natasha, "but give me a few more minutes, and I think I can break it."

He readied himself again, then resumed pushing against the door.

Then Natasha leaned forward and forced her chest against Clint's, putting extra pressure on the door. There was another piercing _snap,_ and Clint felt a definite weakening in the door's timbers.

"Great! Almost there," he gasped.

Natasha shoved her front harder against him, putting all her weight on him, and Clint shoved his hands harder against the wall, putting all his weight on the door, and—

The door splintered off its hinges and they both fell through, landing hard on the floor. The wind was knocked out of Clint, and the warm weight of Natasha on his chest didn't help much.

Her head was resting on his collarbone, and he could feel her rapid breaths on his neck. She lifted her head and hurriedly searched his face.

"Did I… break any of… your ribs?" she asked anxiously.

"Don't think so," Clint gasped.

"Oh, well. I'll check that off my bucket list another day," Natasha said, sounding disappointed. She rolled off of Clint, and the cool air touched his damp chest, reminding him how long she had been pressed against his torso.

Both of them stood up slowly, brushing themselves off. "How 'bout you, are you okay?" Clint asked in concern.

"I am now," Natasha assured him. She shot the closet a dark look. "But I never, _ever_ want to be stuck in a tiny closet with you again."

Clint's heart sank slightly at her words. Sure, it had been awkward at first, but later on, he'd actually enjoyed a couple things that happened in the closet. Maybe it hadn't been _fun,_ but at least _bearable._ To him, parts of it had felt kind of like 'bonding time.' Apparently Natasha didn't feel the same way.

"Well, I'll try not to take it personally," Clint said in a jesting tone.

Apparently, he didn't sound as lighthearted as he'd intended, because Natasha looked up quickly from across the room, where she was retrieving the file. "Hm? Oh! No, don't take it personally. I just don't like being crammed into small spaces with people. But, trust me," she added, taking a step towards him. "If I had to be stuck in a tiny closet with someone, you'd definitely be my first pick. Hands down."

"Really?" Clint asked hopefully.

"Yes, really."

Clint grinned stupidly. Natasha rolled her eyes.

"Shut up. I still think you're an idiot, so don't get a big head," she commanded, but he could tell she was trying not to smile. "Now come on. Let's get out of here before Von Strucker gets back."

Clint followed her out of the room with an inexplicable sense of glee, and grinning from ear to ear.


End file.
